


impressions

by orphan_account



Series: Reylo/Harry Potter AU crossover [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Grumpy Sirius, Hungover Sirius, Then Pining Sirius, meet cutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27644504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sirius is really not happy meeting Peter for brunch. Especially not after a late night of drunken frivolity at James and Hermione's engagement party... But Peter is plucky and cheery as ever. And suggests Sirius meet someone that night. Someone he thinks will make quite the impression.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Rose Tico
Series: Reylo/Harry Potter AU crossover [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018159
Comments: 10
Kudos: 9





	impressions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blessedindeed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blessedindeed/gifts).



> no alpha or beta. I just had the time and wanted to write this!!  
> I hope you enjoy, dear friend!!

* * *

The world is hideous and offensive.

Hideously _bright_.

And offensively _loud_.

Mornings are the _worst._

Especially mornings when one’s closest mates is selfish in his insistence for brunch after a night spent making merry and fun and drinking at the Engagement Party.

“Isn’t this nice, Sirius?”

Sirius peeks open an eye. Narrowly. Angrily. Twisting his face as angrily as he possibly could to convey that, no. No, no, and a thousand times more, NO. There is nothing at all pleasant at being out in the midst of all this ghastly fresh air and sunshine.

“Your face is doing that think again, Pads,” Peter answers so cheerily that it makes Sirius all the more miserable. Does no one understand his plight and pain?! Apparently not, because Peter continues that irritating chittering. “Some more tea and food. That’s what you need. I already ordered our usuals when I came in—“

“Yes, yes,” Sirius huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose, leaning forward. “And with that, you’ve single-handedly destroyed the last impressions of reputations we have on all society.”

“How do you mean?”

Sirius huffs again. Because. _Honestly_. Wormy is always too slow when it comes to picking up societal ticks and norms.

He makes an angry, airy gesture over their table—or, at least, he _tries_. His hand appears to be disobeying, and having a fit or some form of a spasm. Maybe Peter’s right. Maybe he does need more tea.

Or maybe that ruddy sun needs to _naff off!_ Hide away behind some rain clouds. Vanish whilst a sudden storm bursts overhead—

It beams on. A bright, buttery-yellow gold that Padfoot would love to have a good lark about in. Frolic and chase things. But Sirius is too knackered after a night of celebration and frivolity, and the sun seems to not care one bit of his misery. Nor to the clouds.

Nor does Peter, for that matter.

 _Merlin_.

“Look, mate. It’s one thing when we have monthly brunch to strategise and coordinate and discuss dates and talk of setting each other up. It’s another altogether when you send one of the Potter House elves to make sure I’m up and not late for brunch, and then you waltz in late and order us ‘the usual’. It’s done now. Hopelessly confirmed. We’ll never have partners to share lives and joys and all that love with. We’re alone. With no one but each other. You’ve sealed our fates.”

“Oh.” Peter sips his tea, infuriatingly innocent and calm over Sirius’ outburst. He lowers the tea cup to its saucer. “Then I suppose you’re not at all interested in the witch I’ve met this week that I wanted to introduce you to.”

Sirius blinks.

Words.

Peter spoke words.

But nothing connects… Sirius can’t quite function enough for comprehension.

Tea. He needs more tea.

And so he promptly downs his cup in one searing, burning gulp.

“Right ho, Peter.” He blinks several times and drains his water glass, too. “What are you on about?”

“The charity Invitational International Quidditch Tournament,” Peter explains. “I’m assisting with coordinating with all the team managers and trainers, and I met an American who I think you’d like.”

“Yeah? Why me and not you?”

“Because.”

“Because… why?”

“No specific reason.” Peter shrugs. “Just because.”

Bollocks.

Sirius narrows his gaze across the table and tells his friend precisely that.

“It’s not bollocks.” Peter rushes to his defense. “Look. I haven’t said anything about it, but I’ve had three dates with someone and it’s going well. We have plans for a fourth.”

Sirius is confounded. _Again_.

He blinks once. Twice. “Bollocks.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Well, I’m saying it again. Bollocks.”

“Nothing I’ve told you is false or bollocks, Padfoot.” Peter looses a heavy breath, dragging a hand through his hair and scratching his neck. “Look. I didn’t want to say anything before the first one, because what if it went poorly and I think I already liked her enough then to know I’d be disappointed if it did. It didn’t. It went swimmingly well. It talked and she laughed. She talked and I had clever things to say back and laughed at the funny things she said. She’s beautiful and nice, and was the one who wanted to see _me_ again. Then again.”

“And now _again_.” Dumbfounded. Sirius is utterly dumbfounded. “But last month when we met and I suggested—“

“I never committed.” Peter’s unflinching. Unwavering. “And if you’ll recall, I quickly changed the subject back to matters surrounding you and work, James and Hermione, and how you felt with Moony wanting us to all get to know Healer Solo more.”

“Bloody hell,” Sirius grouses. “So you’ve concocted this pity set-up to make me feel better about being the last of anyone to have someone to be an item with?”

“No!” Peter shakes his head, feverishly at that. It’s bound to make Sirius all the more sick to his stomach if he keeps at it… which he mercifully doesn’t. “You’ve heard of that loudmouth player from America, Poe Dameron?”

“The chaser? Of course. He can get away with being such an arrogant sod because he’s so good. And I’d be jealous of his hair if I weren’t so confident in the silkiness and texture of my own hair.”

“Yes. Well. All right, then. Your hair has always been the envy of all, Padfoot, but that’s not the point.” Peter rubs his hands together over the table. “Dameron is on this team America sent for the Invitational, and seems he’s not so keen on the curfew and guidelines their manager is giving them, and he decided to get mouthy with the manager. She gave him what-for and put him right back in his place. Told him without a blink or flinch that he could abide my her rules, or be given the first portkey back home, and kicked off their team.”

“Really?” Sirius is… intrigued. That’s intriguing enough, at least. “All right. What’s your plan?”

Peter is the one beaming now. Bright enough to make the sun look dull and dark.

What could it hurt to at least listen?

* * *

It’s bad. So very very bad.

Sirius doesn’t know _why_ _in the name of Godric and all the Founders_ he listens and puts up with this.

It’s the night following one soiree, and he’s dressed up again.

He’s all dressed up, and miserable.

Miserable because he’s getting too old for parties two nights in a row, and, Godric, he _loathes_ admitting that to himself. But, it’s the truth.

And to top it all off, Peter’s a little traitor and having to keep busy and hobnob with all the bigwigs.

To be precise: he pointed out the American manager—“Rose Tico,” he told Sirius—and vanished into the sea of people. Sirius hasn’t seen in him going on three quarters of an hour now.

And this Rose Tico has been doing a fair amount of talking herself. Meeting anyone and everyone. Laughing in a pleasing melody that agrees with Sirius’ temperament. The trouble is, he can’t get over there to _meet_ her…

So, here he is. Sipping champagne. Alone by the food table. Forgotten. Forlorn. And did he mention _alone_ , and—

“For the last time, Dameron, _no!”_

Sirius is shaken from his depressed slouching by the appearance of the woman herself. This beautiful slip of a woman with lush curves on display in a captivating blue dress. Her hair is dark and long, and her eyes are equally dark. And fierce.

Merlin. So fierce. Spiffing first impression, indeed! 

She could start a war with a glare that she was glaring at who Sirius just realised truly _was_ Poe Dameron.

He’s caught—doesn’t know who he wants to meet _more_.

He loses the chance to decide when Dameron snaps, “You’re a killjoy, Tico! A jealous killjoy and I thought you’d have been over it by now!” He whirls on his heel and storms off before Sirius can make a bloody fool of himself over a professional Quidditch star…

Probably for the best. Seems like he’s a prick, anyways.

Especially given the hunch in the shoulders of the witch he left behind.

“Whatever, Dameron,” she mutters, seemingly to herself. Sirius watches her take one of the flutes of ice water, and drain it all in a long gulp. She lowers the glass to the table, and, to his complete surprise, looks to _him_. “Are you going to lurk all night, or is that what you do for a living?”

Ah. She knows how to play already. _Marvelous_.

Sirius steps forward, smiling a crooked, swooning sort of smile. “Lurking is part of a my duties, when necessary. And I would say it was necessary in the instance of watching you give him what-for.”

“I have to,” she answers. “I’m the first female manager in American Quidditch. And the youngest they’ve ever had, too. Can’t let any of them think they can walk all over me.”

“Fascinating.” Wormy may be onto something. This lovely slip of a female _fearless_. Sirius likes Fearless. “Tell me, Madame Manager, what were you arguing about with Player Dameron?”

“No drinking during the season. I won’t stand for compromises in performance, and I knew all these players back at school. I’ve seen how they play after nights of partying when alcohol is involved.”

“I see.” Sirius can’t take his eyes from her. Fearless and committed to her virtues. “And, do you extend your rules of temperance to yourself?”

“I do. I lead by example. My sister is trainer and we’re up together before dawn. She’s on the pitch for training, and I’m in the office taking care of all the business things no one else likes.” She narrows her dark eyes at him. “Like now. Being here. This is business and we’re here to make an impression, not start or get involved in drunken brawls.”

“Oh, you’ve made an impression.” Sirius sets his champagne flute on the table and proffers his now free hand. “Very much so. Sirius Black; it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh…” She takes his hand, firmly shaking it. But not too firmly. Perfectly, actually. “Rose Tico. Nice to meet you. Are you a manager or trainer?”

“Auror.” Sirius smiles, because he just can’t help it. There’s something about this witch. A spark. A fire. He likes it. He likes _her_. “My friend, Peter over there—“ He looks right, pointing at the cleverest of friends. “He works at the Ministry of Magic here and had a free guest pass to this gathering.”

It’s possibly his imagination, but Sirius thinks Rose’s face just drops. A little. Maybe because she thinks, wrongly, that he’s not available. Only he is. Very much so.

Available and considering that ‘otherwise occupied’ with the company of Miss Rose Tico would be a much lovelier alternative…

He allows a half-smile to curl up his cheer. “See, Peter’s been on three dates with someone he thinks is quite lovely, but he wasn’t sure if that was ample time to keep knowing each other before making a statement and bringing her to an official function. So, they’re keeping their quiet fourth date for next weekend at some private tea shop in Muggle London, and I’m here because everyone knows me, and knows I’ll happily empty my coffers for the cause of Quidditch and fun.”

“Is that true?” She makes a face at him that’s so lovely a piece of him melts on the inside.

“Every word.” Sirius raises his hand, palm up. Giving a silent oath. “But, see, if I tell you he invited me along because there was a certain American manager he thought I should meet, would that scare you off?”

She takes her time before answer. Eyeing him up and down for what seems to be _forever_. Tilts her head. Smirks. Parts her lips. And says, “Not at all.”

“Yeah?”

“Honest.” She licks her lips. “It probably should. My breakup with my first and only boyfriend was a doozy and as of last month, I was still telling my sister I’ve sworn off dating.”

 _Careful_. He needs to be very careful treading forward. “Recent breakup then?”

“Nine months,” she says with a shake of her head. “He’s a reporter for one of the chronicles back home.”

“Nine months…” Sirius cants his head. “All right. I’ll throw it out there and ask if you’d feel up for grabbing a cup of tea together in your free time?”

“I don’t have much.”

“That’s fine. I have an understanding partner. I can adjust my time to yours.”

She eyes him again. Then asks, “Were you planning on coming to any of the matches?”

“As many as I can make.”

“Okay.” Rose looks around the room. Then back at him. “There are some people over there I need to meet. And then I need to check on the players. If you’d like to talk more, I’ll be free in half an hour.”

Hope fluttered as pixies in Sirius’ chest. “Meet you back here?”

“Sure.” She smiled at him, turning to leave. “Then you can come to our first match day after tomorrow, and take me to tea after.”

“Perfect.”

There’s simply no other word for it.

Sirius decides he’s ready to mingle himself. Maybe even find Peter and clap the old boy on the back.

Who can say for certain, but this may possibly turn out to be the best night of his life.


End file.
